Catalina presided in person at the arrival of these effects, and directed where each one was to be placed.
IV
Buena Vista was a far grander house, and I think that Catalina may justifiably have felt that she had scored heavily over the S. Cura of Albolote. Not only had she now a regular estate to herself, but she had a larger number of servants in her new establishment, and that, for a person of Catalina’s temperament, was an advantage not to be disregarded. It is rather surprising to learn that Catalina treated her servants with a certain reserved dignity; one would have expected her as a woman not born to the habit of command, to rush first to the extreme of too great a tyranny, and then of too great a familiarity, with all shades of too violent a temper in between, but it was not so. These inconsistencies of behaviour are precisely what make her more credible as a human being and yet more puzzling. The tone is noticeably different when the servants are talking of Catalina or of Lopez. There is no contempt when she is mentioned, but, rather, an affectionate respect. ‘Doña Catalina was not a proud lady (I think the maid Vicenta Sanchez here means “not stuck up”). She was very good and kind to her servants, and when I heard her mention Pepita’s name it was when she was talking to other members of the family at the table.’ Perhaps Catalina with the adaptability of the true adventurer had acquired more sense of social behaviour since the days when she admitted Señor Corral the grocer to the intimacy of her friendly evenings at Albolote. And even in the days of Señor Corral she had tried to pretend to him that Pepita was not a dancer, but a mimic, whereas to the Alcalde and her other more elegant friends she had described her frankly as a dancer.
Anyway, she now had plenty of servants over whom to exercise her authority, and as these servants, both indoor and out, play an inevitable part in the life of that pavonian homestead on the outskirts of Granada, I again quote the excellent Richard Ford, this time on the subject of the Spanish domestic, to whom he devotes a great deal of attention. It is indeed irresistible for me to quote Richard Ford, for the period of his acquaintance with Spain corresponds so very nearly with the years covered by this recital, and moreover my own anxiety not to over-romanticise the background of a story already sufficiently romantic in its essence though fortunately realistic in its detail, leads me to welcome the corroboration of an author who can authentically and without prejudice supply such comments as I myself could supply only from the treacherous depths of my own imagination. Let Richard Ford, therefore, speak for the characters represented by Ana Seron Giminez, Antonio Machado Guindo, Jose Ligero Castillo, Antonio Amador, Domingo Martirez Fermandez, Agustin Ballesteros Saes, Arenas Robles, Vicenta Sanchez Ruiz, Felix Gomez Carrera, Juan Hoces Ruiz, Francisco Martin Lopez, Nicanor, Margarita, Josefa, and Juana, surnames unknown, who all at one time or another and in their various capacities faithfully served Catalina and Pepita at Buena Vista:
‘The principal defects of Spanish servants and of the lower class of Spaniards are much the same, and faults of race. As a mass, they are apt to indulge in habits of procrastination, waste, improvidence, and untidiness. They are unmechanical and obstinate, easily beaten by difficulties, which their first feeling is to raise, and their next to succumb to; they give the thing up at once. They have no idea indeed of grappling with anything that requires much trouble, or of doing anything as it ought to be done, or even of doing the same thing in the same way—accident and the impulse of the moment set them going…. They are very loquacious, and highly credulous, as often is the case with those given to romancing, which they, and especially the Andalucians, are to a large degree…. As they have an especial good opinion of themselves, they are touchy, jealous, and thin-skinned, and easily affronted whenever their imperfections are pointed out; their disposition is very sanguine and inflammable; they are always hoping that what they eagerly desire will come to pass without any great exertion on their parts; they love to stand still with their arms folded, while other men put their shoulders to the wheel. Their lively imagination is very apt to carry them away into extremes for good or evil, when they act on the moment like children, and having gratified the humour of the impulse relapse into their ordinary tranquillity, which is that of a slumbering volcano. On the other hand, they are full of excellent and redeeming good qualities; they are free from caprice, are hardy, patient, cheerful, good-humoured, sharp-witted, and intelligent; they are honest, faithful, and trustworthy; sober, and unaddicted to mean, vulgar vices; they have a bold, manly bearing, and will follow well wherever they are well led, being the raw material of as good soldiers as are in the world; they are loyal and religious at heart, and full of natural tact, mother-wit, and innate good manners. In general, a firm, quiet, courteous, and somewhat reserved manner is the most effective…. The Spaniards treat their servants very much like the ancient Romans or the modern Moors; they are more their vernae, their domestic slaves; it is the absolute authority of the father combined with the kindness.’
We may well deduce from all this, that Catalina and her servants could meet and understand one another on several points. Catalina, like them, was free neither from the charge of waste nor of improvidence. Loquacious she certainly was and ‘highly credulous as is often the case with those given to romancing’. Yet, oddly enough, she could also practise the custom observed by Ford, of treating her dependents with an absolute authority combined with kindness. How did she manage it? How did she manage to inspire her servants with the sense of romance in her background, without talking to them with a familiarity which would have diminished their respect? Of course, Pepita unconsciously came to her aid. Everybody in Granada knew about Pepita; had not the House of the Royal Peacocks itself changed its name into the House of the Dancer? They all looked forward to the day when Pepita would come to Buena Vista.
I fancy, however, that some of the servants were of so low a condition that they would never have dared to answer back even if Catalina scolded them. One of them, indeed, Josefa, was in no position to answer back, for she was dumb. Another one, Juana, was little more than a child from the neighbouring village of Castilla la Vieja. Two others, Nicanor and Margarita, were even more to be pitied, for they had been recruited from the miserable ranks of the survivors in the Foundling Hospital. If Ford is to be believed, these hospitals, casas de espositos (houses of the exposed), were ‘scarcely better managed than lunatic asylums; the proportion who died was frightful, it was indeed an organised system of infanticide. The infants were laid in rows on dirty mattresses along the floor and were left unheeded and unattended. Their large heads, shrivelled necks, hollow eyes, and wax wan figures, were shadowed with coming death. About one in twelve survived to idle about the hospital, ill-clad, ill-fed, and worse taught. The boys were destined for the army, the girls for domestic service, nay, for worse.’ Even their names were not their own, but had been bestowed on them by the matron at the time of their admission, and were usually that of the Saint whose day it was.
Fortunate indeed were those who were adopted by some benevolent or childless person, such as the Nicanor and Margarita whom we find under the rule of Catalina at Buena Vista. Nicanor, who appeared to be about thirteen, helped with the horses and did whatever else he was told; Margarita, who was about a year older, was employed in the house. And of course there was Rafaela, that poor relation, who trailed after Catalina wherever she went and was still treated very much like the other servants.
Naturally, domestic life at Buena Vista was not without its rows and disturbances. The word ‘dismissed’ occurs quite frequently throughout the pages of the evidence. Thus, there is an unfortunate German maid called Maria, who is discovered sheltering with the local greengrocer because she has been sent away by Catalina and is ‘very lost and troubled owing to her ignorance of Spanish’. Then there is Antonio Machado Guindo, who got into trouble with Catalina for taking Pepita’s part over a quarrel between mother and daughter. ‘The next day being Sunday, he asked Catalina for the key of the garden gate to go to Mass, and on her refusing to give it to him, h
e said he would jump over the railings, did so, and disappeared.’ And there was Felix Gomez Carrera, who survived only four months of his employment. He tells us the reason for his dismissal himself; it is sufficiently fantastic: ‘A peacock was lost and I was blamed for it’.
A strange young man floats brightly into their lives at this time, and floats out again, never to reappear. ‘There came a young man to the house, badly dressed and wearing a capa such as itinerant shoe-makers wear. He stayed at the house and the following day he appeared well-dressed. People said he was a son of Don Manuel and the servants called him Señorito. He was there about a month till the arrival of a woman, when he left with her.’ Then, apart from one violent quarrel with his family in Granada, he vanishes, so far as we are concerned, for ever.
That disposes of Lopez’ son, but Catalina’s son Diego is with them again. He had seen military service in both Cuba and Mexico, and appears to have been but little sobered by his experiences. At Malaga his mother’s friends had thought him harum-scarum; at Buena Vista her servants thought him light-headed. He was now engaged in courting Lola, seventeen years his junior. Despite the discrepancy in age he insisted on marrying her, and she, having thrown over Juan de Dios Gonzalez in his favour, was not unwilling. The marriage was celebrated by the priest of San Ildefonso at Buena Vista itself; was witnessed by Catalina, Lopez, Rafaela, and several of their servants; and needless to say, turned out most unhappily, for ‘they were always fighting’. This is all that can be recorded of Diego for the moment. We hear no more of him until several years later we find Catalina and Lopez trying to bribe him to assassinate Juan Antonio Oliva.
V
Catalina’s relations with her son-in-law had indeed been most peculiar from the first. She had been delighted with the marriage, and then had lost no time in wrecking it, whether by design, folly, cupidity, or jealousy we shall never know. More curious still, we find her apparently making at least one attempt to repair the damage she had done.fn2
She and Lopez were in Paris, sitting together outside a café adjoining the theatre where Oliva was then employed. Suddenly they saw, recognised, and excitedly summoned Manuel Guerrero, whom they knew to be a ballet-master in the same company. Guerrero was tolerably familiar with Pepita by then, for not only had he observed her in Madrid just before her marriage, but had also had that interview with her when she danced for him so unsuccessfully at the Hotel Peninsular in Madrid. Of course neither Catalina nor Lopez knew about that. They called him to them, introducing themselves as the mother-in-law and father-in-law (sic) of Juan Antonio Oliva and invited him to sit down and drink coffee with them. This, Guerrero refused to do. He was very fond of Oliva by then, and was not disposed to accept hospitality at Catalina’s hands. Lopez then said, ‘I wish you would do us a favour’. Guerrero asked what it might be. They then complained that on several occasions they had seen Oliva passing through the café on his way to the stage dressing-room, but that he had passed without taking any notice of them, although he had evidently seen them. Would Guerrero please use his influence to induce Oliva to come and see them, as they wanted to speak to him about important matters? Guerrero went back to the theatre and spoke to Oliva at once, but met with a flat refusal. He said that Catalina was the cause of all the trouble; she had behaved very badly to him at Valencia just after his marriage and he would have nothing to do with her. After a great deal of persuasion Guerrero induced Oliva to come to the café with him, ‘and there was then a reconciliation, with much crying and embracing on the part of Catalina. Catalina said to Juan Antonio that she had received a letter from Pepita in Berlin in which the latter requested that Catalina would induce Juan Antonio to leave the company in which he was then engaged and go to live with her [Catalina] and Lopez, and to look after him well, and that she [Pepita] would soon return to Paris to meet him.’ By the time the message had been delivered and the tears and embraces were over, they were all on the best of terms; they had been joined by two other members of the company, and Lopez wound it all up by inviting Guerrero and Oliva to lunch with him and Catalina at Passy. Guerrero, for his part, said, ‘Me convidad convida a ciento’ (an invitation to me includes a hundred), meaning that of course he could take a friend or two with him, which was the Spanish custom. Lopez said, ‘Oh certainly, bring all the company with you’, so two days later Oliva and Guerrero went to luncheon accompanied by four of their friends. ‘We all went’, says Guerrero frankly. The part played by the four strangers in this intimate gathering is hard to imagine exactly. But the party seems to have been a success. It began at one o’clock and lasted till late in the evening. Lopez and Catalina, according to Guerrero, were both ‘gorgeously dressed’; they wore the large gold chains and rings which always seem to have made so deep an impression on all beholders. During lunch, Lopez rose and gave the toast of a happy reunion between Oliva and Pepita; they all drank it with acclamation, Oliva included. Catalina then referred again to the letter she had received from Pepita, saying that she was to keep Oliva in Paris and that he was not to go on dancing any more as she had plenty of money without that. As all the guests seemed a little doubtful and disinclined to believe this, Lopez called out, ‘Bring out Pepita’s letter’, when somewhat to their surprise Catalina went into the adjoining room, produced a letter with foreign stamps on it, and handed it to one of the company to read aloud, ‘when it was found to be to the effect which the mother had stated. Oliva then became more cheerful with the prospect of again seeing Pepita.’
There were certain details to be adjusted. Catalina said Guerrero must use his influence with the management to allow Oliva to cancel his engagement in Paris, because Pepita’s own contract in Berlin would soon come to an end, and she would then come to Paris to see him. Meanwhile Oliva should go to live with her and Lopez at Passy. On this arrangement, the party happily broke up. They had sat so late over their celebrations, that the six artistes got back to the theatre only just in time for the performance.
Guerrero did his best, but could only obtain permission for Oliva to cancel the contract when the company left for Germany, after he had served out his time in Paris.
Meanwhile Catalina and Lopez kept a close eye on their recovered rebel. They made him live with them at Passy during the whole of the remaining fortnight of his contract, fetching him home every night from the theatre in a cab lest he should elude them. They kept him quiet and happy and good by telling him of almost daily letters from Pepita, saying that she was well, etc. Oliva was ‘very pleased and in high spirits’, and several times expressed the hope that she would arrive in Paris before Guerrero had left.
It seems the most extraordinary arrangement, and any sensible person would have foreseen that any amicable mode of existence between Oliva and his mother-in-law in the same house was out of the question. Such an arrangement might be arrived at through tears, emotion, reconciliation, and a luncheon-party, but there was not the faintest hope of its permanence. Guerrero himself went off to Germany with evident misgivings, leaving Oliva (for whom he entertained a really deep affection) in Paris. He went in considerable hope of finding Pepita in Berlin; to his great disappointment, however, he arrived in Berlin on the very day she had left. He found nothing but the posters still on the hoardings, ironically announcing Pepita de Oliva as dancing El Ole at the Frederick William Theatre. The posters were left, but Pepita herself was gone.
Perhaps he remembered then the occasion on which Pepita had danced El Ole for him in her dressing-gown, without music, in a sitting-room of the Peninsular.
VI
Guerrero was not altogether sorry to have missed Pepita, for he would have felt obliged to call on her for Oliva’s sake and had meanwhile been annoyed by the information that she had been describing his company as ‘a band of zincali’ (gypsies) in Berlin. This perhaps came badly from Pepita, who was half a gypsy herself.
Guerrero and his company do not appear to have enjoyed their month in Berlin, for apart from the bitter cold, ‘we went out very little, being u
nable to speak German and finding ourselves lost as it were’. They had already wandered from Dieppe to Brussels, from Brussels to Aix-la-Chapelle, and from Aix-la-Chapelle to Cologne, finding it ‘very cold on the Rhine’.
In any case, it did not matter very much whether Guerrero saw Pepita or not, for almost immediately after his arrival in Berlin, he received a letter from Oliva, the contents of which he must have divined even before he tore the envelope open. The letter revealed that Oliva had had another quarrel with Catalina,—or, as he put it, ‘there had been disgustos’ (unpleasantnesses). He had been turned out of the house, and now was writing to ask whether Guerrero could get him taken back into the company. Guerrero did his best to oblige, but the company director had had enough of Oliva’s chops and changes. His request was refused on the grounds that the director did not care to incur further expense and had already sufficient members in the company under him.
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